


All Is Fair

by Lunotic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Mild Smut, Past Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Past Relationship(s), Politics, Tags Are Not Fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25349056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunotic/pseuds/Lunotic
Summary: Edelgard's plans had accounted for the empire's victory over the Church of Seiros. They had accounted for the consecutive war against those who slither in the dark. They had accounted for the challenges of leading a united Fódlan. These plans had been carefully crafted and refined long before she was attacked alongside Dimitri and Claude outside of Remire Village.None of these plans had accounted for her falling in love with a mercenary-turned-professor. None of these plans had accounted for him standing by her side when she betrayed the Church.And none of these plans accounted for Byleth being able to look her in the eyes and tell her, "I love you."
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Petra Macneary/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74
Collections: Bylad x Edelgard





	1. World Fragments I

His lips are on hers and his fingers are at her dress buttons and his scent is all she could register and Edelgard is so, so happy.

It had not been easy to tread her bloodied path. Launching an offensive against the Archbishop was a decision Edelgard made with no remorse, but every subsequent betrayal had hurt. Hilda’s wide-eyed expression plastered onto a broken corpse in the Derdriu streets. Marianne’s body blowing in the wind, dangling from the parapets of a border fortress. Flayn’s sorrow turned to pain as the Sword of the Creator lacerates her face. Dimitri's hand at his heart, the fallen king coughing up blood as Dedue runs to his aid. None of them deserved this – and the imperial spies suggest that Ashe, Catherine and Cyril still lie ahead.

She would not have been able to walk this path alone. She shudders to imagine what she would have become if Byleth had not committed to sharing her burden.

From the beginning, Byleth had firmly told his former students that he wouldn’t let them kill their classmates if he could help it. Sure enough, it was Byleth who had dueled Hilda; it was Byleth who had spared Flayn and Seteth; it was Byleth who had put Dimitri out of his misery. With the exceptions of Felix’s act of “honorable patricide,” and Ingrid teaming up with Dorothea to force Dedue’s early retreat from the Tailtean Plains, Byleth had been the one to take on the emotional burden of fighting the Garreg Mach alumni. Which makessense; in his own words, he “feels things differently” than his students.

Yet it’s Byleth who is passionately kissing Edelgard inside of her tent the day before they march on Fhirdiad.

Edelgard **knows** how her relationship with her professor progressed so swiftly, but that doesn't mean she **understands** it. One night, Byleth had caught her drawing his portrait – a five-year habit she had neglected to hide from him. She asked that he leave. For the first and only time, he defied her orders, taking her into his arms and kissing her.

As he took her maidenhood that night, she had sworn she could feel his heart beat, if only once.

Byleth, with his unique way of “feeling things differently,” had called her El that night. Byleth, with his unique way of “feeling things differently,” had served as her emotional outlet every day afterwards. Byleth, with his unique way of “feeling things differently,” had offered to walk Ingrid down the aisle at her impromptu wedding to Sylvain just an hour ago.

And Byleth, with his unique way of “feelings things differently,” is preparing to make love to his emperor in her own tent after picking up on the “fuck me eyes” Edelgard had thrown him (an expression she had been practicing!) shortly after she had pronounced her classmates husband and wife.

So yes, even despite the death and betrayal she and her compatriots had sown across a divided Fódlan, Byleth is the reason Edelgard could feel _happy_.

Byleth is the reason she could shrug her dress off her shoulders and embrace that skin-to-skin contact she had longed for. Byleth is the reason she could trail kisses down his muscled frame with his hands in her hair and his joy in her heart. Byleth is the reason she could get down on her knees and undo the clasp on his –

“Your majesty, if I may.”

“Eep!” Edelgard’s hands fly back as she shrieks at the sound of the interloper – it was obviously Hubert but she cares not, she came here to be _alone_ with _Byleth_ and _no one else_ – and pulls her dress back up, fingers trembling as they seek to redo the buttons Byleth had so calmly undone. Once she’s at least somewhat decent, she glares at the smirking figure standing at the tent flaps behind her. “Hubert! How _utterly_ inappropriate, for you to – to –”

“I'm sure I speak for both the emperor and myself when I offer my apologies,” Byleth calmly finishes, stepping in for his sputtering lover. “We did not mean to offend.”

“No, no offense taken,” Hubert replies. Edelgard can hear the smile in his voice, can see the crinkles in his eyes, eyes that have softened, to her perpetual shock, over the past five years. “I should apologize for my interruption, but this is urgent, to say the least – I would consider it warranted.”

 _Okay, El, get it together. Stop thinking about the professor. Start thinking about the war._ “Of course. Professor, if you could please reclaim your tunic –”

“Yes, professor, please, I would hate for her majesty to be distracted –”

“ _Hubert!_ ” This is unlike him. If that simple, humble wedding could give Hubert a sense of humor, Edelgard needs to find Sylvain and thank him personally before tomorrow’s battle.

“Of course,” Byleth responds impassively, although Edelgard can hear the nigh-imperceptible laugh in his reply. Within moments, his tunic is donned once again. One wouldn’t have been able to tell he had just been a few moments from being buried inside – _Dammit, El, stop it!_

“Anyways,” Hubert continues, “I wanted to address our plans for after we win in Fhirdiad.”

“ _If_ we win in Fhirdiad,” Edelgard swiftly corrects her advisor. “King Dimitri is dead, but the Immaculate One lives. We saw how Claude came prepared for failure, and how it paid off for him. We would be wise to do the same.”

“Of course,” Hubert replies without missing a beat. “But we must also maintain preparedness for success, and this may be one of our last opportunities to speak while those who slither in the dark cannot listen."

He isn’t wrong. Edelgard is well aware of just how far her foes’ network stretches, of how easily they could replace her retainers with their spies. “A fair point,” Edelgard concedes. “But we already had plans to bring the strike force against Uncle on the day of the reunification ceremony.”

“And we now have reason to change these plans. I imagine that your majesty knows why.” Hubert looks at her politely but pointedly.

“Respectfully, I don’t. If you could explain?”

“It’s me,” Byleth volunteers. “They could use me against you.”

Hubert nodded. “I don’t imagine you would capitulate easily, professor, but if they could seize you, you would prove an extraordinary bargaining chip.”

Edelgard blinks. “I was under the impression that we are the only ones with any knowledge of the professor and I.”

“Yes,” Hubert explains, “and no. While we are the only ones who know of the _depth_ of your relationship with the professor, some of the other members of the Black Eagle Strike Force have their suspicions. And at the very least, the fact that you greatly respect the professor is common knowledge. Plans made while we presumed the professor to be dead will not hold water now that he fights at our side.

“We also have to consider that those who slither in the dark may be a little more… flashy, if you will, than they previously were. We did not anticipate their destruction of Arianrhod, and we would be remiss to neglect the chance that they will do the same to Fhirdiad after we defeat Rhea.”

With Hubert talking tactics, Edelgard finds herself able to push away her distractions and focus. “We know that they cannot destroy Fhirdiad while Rhea lives.”

“Nor can they prepare their attack until Rhea dies,” Hubert agrees. “But if they destroy the city while we flee, all of us are removed in one fell swoop. Granted, that leaves the Adrestian Empire in turmoil, without an heir to the throne…”

“Unless nobody knows that the emperor has died.” The gravity of the situation, as well as the solution, is quickly dawning on her. “And if that emperor manages to rise from the rubble of Fhirdiad, she will be even more heroic in the people’s eyes – even if that emperor is secretly an imposter.”

Hubert nods. “So you understand.”

“I do. And it’s clear how to solve both these issues at once.” Edelgard turns to Byleth. “Who is your closest height equivalent in the Strike Force?”

“Linhardt, probably.”

 _Good. Linhardt could definitely work._ “And would you have any clues as to mine?”

“Lysithea, though she’s perhaps an inch taller.”

Edelgard bristles silently. Byleth wasn’t _wrong_ , of course, but Edelgard’s failure to grow at all during the war is a sore subject for an empress who wants to present a strong exterior. “And both have similar hair to our own. Could it be you already know what I’m planning?”

“Yes.” Byleth’s hand goes to his waist to fiddle with his dagger, but his eyes – hard yet trusting – remain trained on hers. “We stay together, with Linhardt and Lysithea following closely behind. Shortly after we defeat Rhea, Hubert disguises them to look like us and sends them towards the city gates. Linhardt and Lysithea exit quickly and triumphantly disguised as the two of us, and those who slither in the dark have no reason to destroy the city. We leave from elsewhere.”

That was her exact plan. Byleth was clearly on top of this. “You are full of surprises as always, my teacher.”

Byleth smiles, a once-rare sight that has been growing more frequent by the day. “On the contrary, we discussed disguise tactics a few war councils ago. If anything, I’m surprised you were able to pay attention while staring at me so,” he replies, causing Edelgard’s pale face to flush fiercely.

“I thought it would take us longer to formulate a plan,” Hubert confesses, “but I am once again stunned by your majesty’s tactics. Of course, I would advise that the two of you remain inseparable, at least until tomorrow’s battle comes to an end.”

Edelgard arches her eyebrows. “To ensure we are not covertly replaced?”

“Precisely. I would advise you formulate some sort of test between you two, so that you may ensure the other person is not an imposter.” Hubert bows. “And with that, I fear I am needed for a dance at the reception. Your majesty, professor,” he says, bidding them goodbye before taking his leave.

Now it’s Byleth’s eyebrows that arch. “Hubert, needed for a dance?”

Edelgard giggles. “I could get used to this new Hubert,” she says as she takes a seat upon a stool. “And I must say, that was the shortest tactics meeting I’ve ever partaken in.”

Byleth sits upon a stool of his own and turns it towards hers. “You came up with that plan so quickly. You’ve grown so much over these five years,” he muses.

“I haven’t grown taller,” she mumbles.

“And because of it, you are more difficult to strike in battle, more difficult to avoid, more likely to be underestimated. And besides,” his eyes lowering ever so slightly, “even if you haven’t grown _taller_ , I can think of a few places where you’ve grown _bigger_.”

“Professor!” Edelgard scolds, although her reddening cheeks and embarrassed smile give her away. Byleth wasn’t one to make these blatantly sexual comments frequently, but when he did, Edelgard melted every time. “I-I fear we may not be able to pick up where we left off, however.”

Byleth nods. “If I am to stay here tonight as to prevent our enemies from replacing us, it would be important to be covert about it.”

Edelgard smiles – he is as sharp as ever – and gets up to peek outside the tent. “The guards are in place. We have an important battle tomorrow. We should sleep now.”

“You’re not wrong,” Byleth agrees, “though I fear the others may not sleep for some time.”

“I’m sure Hubert will bring the wedding to an end before it goes on for too long. They can sleep then,” Edelgard says dismissively as she unfurls a double sleeping roll.

“I’m not so sure Sylvain and Ingrid will be getting much sleep,” Byleth adds as he unfastens his tunic the second time that night.

“No,” Edelgard laughs warmly. “I’m not sure they will.”

“Eleanor!”

Edelgard dashes down the torchlit hallway. The nitre-covered walls are familiar, sporting names and achievements of former Adrestian nobles who died long ago. She had played hide-and-seek here in the catacombs with her siblings since she was three. Now, twenty years later, she finds herself playing with her siblings once again. They hide. She seeks.

The stakes are far higher now.

“Eleanor, please!” Edelgard sprints past darkened doorways, their rooms bare save the old magic-sealed sarcophagi. As she tirelessly sprints through the catacombs, she hears a deep groan – something terrible, a sound too horrid to have come from a person.

“El!” Edelgard hears her older sister’s response from a rightward hallway and turns so sharply she nearly falls. There are fewer torches down this hallway, but Edelgard can see a lit doorway at the far end.

“Eleanor, hold on!” Edelgard bolts down the hallway. The doorway is approaching, and the groaning gets louder, louder, _louder_ , until she finally reaches it, panting.

Then she looks up.

Eleanor is strapped along the circumference of a huge metallic breaking wheel. It sits upon an axle within some sort of giant contraption, a groaning clutter of gears designed to spin the wheel. The bottom of the wheel is submerged within a wide vat of bubbling, seething green goop. A robed man with a plague doctor’s mask and a knife is the only thing between Edelgard and the binds holding her sister in place.

“Eleanor!” Edelgard runs to the masked man and attempts to push him away, but he is immovable. The blows from her practiced fists bounce off of him like a marble hitting a brick wall. The man remains unperturbed. It’s as though he doesn’t feel her strikes, doesn’t notice the emperor at all.

He raises the knife.

“No!” Edelgard grips the man’s cloth-covered arm and tries to hold it back, but it’s of no use. He slashes across her sister’s bare chest, just below her left collarbone, and Edelgard is yanked along with his arm.

Eleanor screams. Blood flies from the wound and Edelgard winces – and notices.

Her older sister’s naked body is covered with open wounds – all recent, many still bleeding. She’s been enduring this torture long before Edelgard had found her.

The breaking wheel suddenly begins groaning once again, and Eleanor joins the wheel on its slow rotation down. _She’s going underwater!_ Edelgard realizes as her sister screams in abject terror, feet approaching the gurgling liquid.

Eleanor screams and screams until her entire body is submerged and Edelgard can see nothing but darkness, hear nothing but the groans, smell nothing but the scent of melting flesh.

And then she’s falling. And then she isn’t.

Edelgard suddenly finds herself in another room. More robed people, this time standing around a cot. Edelgard knows she shouldn’t look.

She shouldn’t. But she walks closer and she looks.

They’re operating on a body. Green liquid seeps from brittle pipes into gaping wounds. They aren’t exclusively slices like the scars on her own body – no, these vary. And just by looking at the lifeless face on the cot, Edelgard knows exactly what made those wounds.

The gash along his torso, with depth that could have only been achieved using the Crest of Fraldarius. The hole in his thigh, pierced by Lúin. The missing finger on his left hand, severed by the Lance of Ruin. The chunk taken out of his leg, reaped by Aymr.

The stab wound above his heart…

Edelgard is looking at King Dimitri.

“Your majesty,” one of the cloaked figures greeted her. She hadn’t expected to be acknowledged this time.

“What…” Edelgard has trouble getting the words out. “What is this?”

“We have obtained the Tempest King’s body.”

Edelgard sighs curtly and collects her thoughts. “I can see that. _Why?_ ”

“We are implanting him with the Crest of Flames, of course,” the figure replied, his grin hidden by the mask but made obvious by intonation. “He already has a Crest of Blaiddyd… We expect him to be a truly invaluable emperor.”

“Emperor?!” Edelgard sputters. “I will not hesitate to have you killed if you consider this treasonous drivel.”

“He speaks not of treason, El.” The voice quivers yet sounds of strength, an impossible combination that has long haunted Edelgard’s soul. She turns to the cot only to see Dimitri sitting up, his wounds still leaking forest-green blood.

“You…” Now, Edelgard truly has no words.

“It is all for the good of humanity, for the destruction of the Church,” Dimitri continues, pulling himself off the cot only for his shaking legs to fail him. The fallen king grunts with temerity and pushes himself up from the stone floor, his hands echoing upon contact with the brick. “You were the one of the few successful experiments before me. But I have proven myself stronger, better.”

Dimitri finds his footing and stands, looking down at his stepsister. “My blood churns, empowered by the Crest of Flames. Your fight has ended, El. Your contributions were welcome, but had the professor not stepped in, you would have perished by my hand at the Tailtean Plains.”

Dimitri hasn’t moved, but his posture is improving as Edelgard slouches, feels her strength sap. Her right leg suddenly buckles and she collapses, wracked with pain but forgetting how to scream.

She notices that the chunk torn from Dimitri’s leg – the wound that **she** had wrought – was healed. Gashes suddenly cover her body, only now granting Edelgard awareness of her own nakedness.

The scars she and her classmates had given the Tempest King have healed. Dimitri glances down at the gasping empress.

“You have awakened me to a new life, one with purpose. Thank you, El.”

A searing pain struck above her left breast and she coughed up blood, unable to talk, unable to move, unable –

“El!”

Edelgard was still naked.

Edelgard was still writhing.

Edelgard was now in the warm arms of Byleth, his voice murmuring in her ear as his hands traced over the innumerable slices that mark her body, and so long as he was at her side, Edelgard would never break.

_Breathe_. One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

 _Release_. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

“…I’m so sorry, professor.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“No, I do.” Edelgard snuggles in Byleth’s arms as she calmed herself down, awash in guilt but unharmed by fear. “I woke you. I caused you distress. This display is hardly becoming of an emperor of the reunited Fódlan.”

“El,” Byleth says soothingly. “I’ve been woken by your nightmares every time I’ve slept at your side. And no matter the circumstances, it’s a privilege to wake next to you.”

Edelgard hums in appreciation, but her insecurities are unsatisfied, as usual. _An empress must present strength at all times,_ she reminds herself.

Byleth outlines a gash across her torso, its ridges bumping along his thumb. “Was this from the war?”

“No,” Edelgard whispers.

“Was it from them?”

“Mhm.” Scars are hardly abnormal among the Black Eagle Strike Force, but Edelgard’s scars far outnumber anyone else’s. If she has to guess, the one with the second-highest number would be Caspar – and she likely has more than twice his number.

Byleth. Hubert. Dorothea. Lysithea. They know of her scars. One by hearing her story, one by sharing her past, two by sharing her bed. They knew and no one else.

“Were they in your dreams again?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 _Yes. Always._ “Sure. Perhaps it will help.” It always does.

“I was looking for my sister in the Adrestian catacombs," Edelgard begins." It was where they… did their experiments, back when my siblings lived.”

“Which sister?”

“Eleanor.”

“I think you’ve spoken of her.”

Edelgard smiles. “I have. Blonde hair, wonderful smile, always emotive, always kind. Piercing green eyes that could see right through any fib. She was sixteen.”

Byleth’s hands are tracing the marks along her sides, now. Up, down. Up, down.

“She sounds like a good person.”

“She was. I didn’t get to see her much, she was betrothed to a minor lord of Hrym, some noble seeking political power over the ever-insatiable hand of Prime Minister Aegir.”

“Ferdinand’s father sounds repugnant.”

Edelgard smiles and rolls over, looking into Byleth’s eyes. “You would know. You’ve met him.”

“I have. For all that political acumen, he didn’t look powerful, with that stature.”

“Ha!” Edelgard laughs derisively – she has no sympathy to spare for the man who conspired against her father. “Political acumen is a stretch, he just flattered his way to the top. And I may be short, but at least I’m not wider than I am tall.”

“You’re definitely a lot more beautiful than he is, that’s for certain,” Byleth says sincerely.

Edelgard blushes. _How is he saying such things so effortlessly?_ “Yes, well, Eleanor was betrothed to a man who received the ire of Duke von Aegir, and I didn’t get to see her much as a result. But she was wonderful.”

Byleth nods. “Did you find her in your dream?” Just like that, the joy was gone from Edelgard’s eyes – _better to get it out_ , she reminds herself.

“I did. She was strapped to a huge machine with a big wheel. A man was cutting her up, and then the wheel would go down.”

“So, a spinning wheel, or a moving wheel?”

“A spinning wheel,” Edelgard clarifies. “The wheel was submerged and when it turned, she would go into the blood.”

“For the transfusion?” Byleth certainly catches on quickly.

“Yes. I remember they had machines like that. Some of my brothers and sisters probably had to endure it, or die by it. I don’t know if Eleanor did.” Edelgard takes a deep breath. “Then there was Dimitri,” and her voice catches.

Byleth strokes her hair patiently as Edelgard gets lost in the deepness of his eyes, the brilliance of his hair, the depth of his soul. Finally, she continues.

“They were slicing up Dimitri’s body like they did to me. Then he got up, said he was replacing me, and all his wounds became mine. Then a wound opened up,” Edelgard takes Byleth’s hand and brings to the top of her left breast, “right here.”

Byleth nods. “Where I killed him.”

“Mhm.” Edelgard’s eyes shut as she draws herself back into Byleth’s embrace, keeping his hand over her heart.

After a long silence, Byleth, uncharacteristically, is the one to speak up first. “Your compassion will make you an unparalleled emperor.”

Edelgard smiles and looks up at him. “Your compassion is far more striking than mine. No heartbeat, yet so much heart.”

Byleth’s hand presses into her chest until she can feel the organ pulsing below his touch. “Then I guess yours will have to beat strongly enough for the both of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has this ever happened to you?  
> "This couple is really cute, but there's not enough smut for them! Whatever will I do???"  
> Well fear no more! Meet "Absurd-Story-Which-Positions-Itself-Like-A-Saga-With-Very-Indirect-Smut" and your problems are solved!  
> Memes aside, this started as a desire to make a sickeningly sweet story where Ingrid is sad that she helped kill Dimitri after CF Chapter 17, so Sylvain proposes to her to cheer her up. Knowing that Ingrid won't accept if it means going into battle with another fiance to lose, he arranges a marriage then and there. They get married in a tiny ceremony surrounded by their friends, everyone is happy, then they go upstairs and boink in a very cute, sweet way that would make hearts across the world throb.  
> It turned into this. Whoops.  
> This is heavily, heavily based on the characters that lived and died in my own CF run that I did way back when though I might change a few things that happened (like Lysithea not having a paired ending). I really don't know how long this is going to be, but hey, here's to hoping it'll be fun.


	2. Seamless

As always, Edelgard stirs awake not by her own volition, but because of the war trumpets blown every morning at sunrise.

There was once a time when Edelgard was young and innocent that she would relish the mornings, waking up before any of her siblings and bounding into her father’s study without so much as a knock. After she was infused with the Crest of Flames, however, Edelgard took on a regular schedule of staying up late into the night, whether to meet with those who slither in the dark, plot her rise against the Church, or avoid the terrors that so often come with sleep. No longer could she wake herself up on time; during her academy days, Hubert would often do her the courtesy of knocking on her door every morning, giving her just enough time to apply just enough makeup to just barely hide the dark circles just beginning to form beneath her eyes.

When the war began, Hubert’s assistance was no longer necessary. The trumpets did his job for him.

Byleth is no longer laying at her side – she had long ago accepted that her professor often needed to wake early, and does not fault him for it. She longs for a day when she can wake up with him, not after him. For today, however, he has given her a rare treat – he is still in her tent, sitting on a stool and reading a book.

Of course he wouldn’t leave her alone. Not when they are more vulnerable now than ever.

“Preparing tomorrow’s coursework?” Edelgard teases softly. Byleth leans down, flips the book over and shows her the title. _Picking Fódlan’s Locket_ is plastered in gaudy yellow lettering above a sketch of the mountain fortress viewed from its Almyran side.

“It’s a book by a Kingdom architect on how absurdly difficult it is to invade Fódlan through the Throat,” Byleth explains before earmarking his page and tossing Edelgard the book. It lands on her sleeping roll with a plop. “Because the Locket is small and centralized, it works to keep land invaders compressed and vulnerable while taking out wyvern riders from the parapets.”

Edelgard remembers her fight against Nader’s seemingly endless barrage of forces at the Locket. She had been shocked that the battle had gone so smoothly – and also suspicious about Almyra’s sudden attack so soon after the Empire had forced Claude’s surrender.

“So how does one pick the Locket?”

“I’m not up to that part yet,” Byleth confesses. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’ll be via triggering some sort of natural disaster somehow – you know, an earthquake, wildfire, something like that. Catch the defenders off guard with a situation you’re prepared for.” He stands up. “Thankfully Fhirdiad seems a lot easier to crack than the Locket.”

“Of course,” Edelgard says, suppressing a laugh. She hadn’t really noticed her teacher’s nakedness until he stood (most likely she hadn’t shaken off the morning quite yet), but she finds his inattention to it amusing. It had been Edelgard’s own practice to sleep bare – she feels safer with more skin touching the covers – and she feels safest with Byleth’s skin wrapped around her own.

It isn’t really a lewd thing, not by design. The lewdness that often results from it is hardly objectionable, however.

“I know, I’ll get my clothes,” Byleth says with a sigh. Edelgard had been staring for far too long.

“No need to rush,” Edelgard tells him. “The view is pleasant.”

Byleth turns away, and Edelgard knows that it’s the closest thing to a blush she’ll get out of him.

“Sylvain!”

Edelgard has been spending the morning pacing the grounds with Byleth, catching up with her generals and ensuring that they are familiar with her plan. A few tents away, Sylvain is chatting with Mercedes as Ingrid beams at his side. The three are wearing casual loungewear – an apparent staple of the early morning for everyone except the emperor and her advisors.

“Hey, your majesty!” Sylvain says with his typical faux pomp before taking his wife’s hand and wishing Mercedes goodbye. Edelgard had never thought she would see a day when Ingrid was **happy** to see Sylvain talking with women. For him to have changed so quickly that Ingrid could trust him so… Edelgard is envious of the novelty. 

Sylvain and Ingrid approach Edelgard and her professor, and Edelgard smiles to greet them. “I simply wanted to wish you the best on your new marriage. It was such a pleasant surprise for so many of your friends, myself included.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been possible without you,” Sylvain says. “It was an honor not only to have the emperor presiding over our wedding, but also to celebrate both the last wedding of Fhaergus and the first wedding of your reunified Fódlan.”

“Oh, and professor!” Ingrid adds. “I wanted to thank you again for walking with me. I’m so grateful to have a father figure like you.”

“I’m touched that you think of me so kindly,” Byleth responds, humbled.

“Oh, it’s not just her,” Sylvain reassures him. “We’re all grateful. And I mean that as genuinely as possible.”

“I’m not sure that’s saying much,” Edelgard quips, and Sylvain feigns scandalization as Ingrid laughs.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Sylvain says after his wife’s laughter dies down. “So when are you two getting hitched then?”

Edelgard flushes immediately, and Ingrid elbows Sylvain in the ribs. “I apologize for my fool of a husband,” she says with an embarrassed smile. Sylvain clutches his side – she didn’t hit softly. “He has his moments of talking sweet, but perhaps he can learn some tact.”

Edelgard can only stutter. “The-the pr-pro-professor and I ar-are not –”

“I’m sure you aren’t,” Ingrid says with a simple smile, and leads her wincing husband away.

Edelgard looks up at Byleth, who simply shrugs.

“If they don’t tell anyone about that exchange,” he says, “then I won’t tell anyone about the bite marks Ingrid left on Sylvain’s ears.”

It’s incredible, Edelgard muses, that he can say this stuff with a straight face.

“Professor, I’m afraid I don’t understand. You want us to disguise as you and Edelgard and exit the city before anyone else?”

Noon is approaching, and Byleth is explaining their disguise plan to Lysithea and Linhardt. Lysithea had nodded along. Linhardt had nodded off.

“Yes, Linhardt, I’ve described this already,” Byleth says with an imperceptible sigh only Edelgard picks up on.

“Well, I have a few objections.”

“I don’t care how tired you are, Linhardt,” Edelgard snaps at him. This is the final battle against the Church – she doesn’t have time for his games. “It is what it is, and what it is, is an order.”

“No, it’s not that,” Linhardt responds, totally unperturbed by her outburst. “It’s that Lysithea and I are two of your best Warp-users. But we can’t warp your clothes to us if you’re with Rhea while we’re at the entrance.” Lysithea nods at his side.

 _How didn’t I consider that?_ Edelgard looks to her professor, who seems mildly caught off-guard. Perhaps this should lessen the disappointment Edelgard feels for her tactical oversight, but it doesn’t. _Of course our two look-alikes are also our two main Warp-users._

The confusion quickly clears from Byleth’s expression. “Manuela,” he answers simply.

“That’s right,” Edelgard realizes. “Professor Manuela can use Warp. It will not be easy to get her so close to Rhea, but –”

“Manuela isn’t here, though,” a crooning voice interrupts her. _Wherever did Dorothea come from?_

“I apologize for eavesdropping, but I heard your plan, Edie,” Dorothea tells the somewhat stunned emperor. “And it’s a good one, but our friends here are correct. Only they can use Warp, and Manuela is part of the team guarding the monastery.”

“And do you have a better idea, Dorothea?” Edelgard asks the songstress cautiously.

“Oh, I’m so glad you asked. I do. See, a certain someone and I have been making an… exchange,” Dorothea says with a grin. “I teach her Faith magic so she can impress a boy, and she teaches me horseback riding so I can impress a boy. And she happens to be able to use Rescue, if not under duress.”

Byleth arches his brows, intrigued. “Should I be offended that you would subvert my lessons and teach each other directly?” he asks with a dauntingly monotone intonation.

Dorothea gasps. “Of course not, professor! You were our primary source, after all.”

“He’s joking,” Edelgard quickly clarifies. “But I’d ask if you could tell us who it is before Linhardt loses interest again.”

“Oh no, I’m actually very interested to hear who else can use Faith –”

“Fine, you win, Edie. It’s Bernie.”

Byleth’s brows arch even higher this time. “Bernadetta, using magic?”

“I know, right?” Dorothea says, all but bouncing in place with excitement. “Last person you would expect using magic, but it’s our very own Bernie.”

“I’m more interested in finding out which boy she’s trying to impress, actually –” Lysithea mumbles before Edelgard cuts her off.

“Wonderful. Linhardt, Lysithea, you will meet with Hubert and Bernadetta once Rhea falls. Bernadetta will, er, “Rescue” our outfits to you, and Hubert will further mask your hair and voice accordingly. Act in character if you have to, but see to it that nobody knows who you are. Stay in the medical tent if the pressure gets to be too much.” The relieved emperor dismisses her friends and turns to Dorothea, taking her hand in gratitude. “Dorothea, you have my thanks.”

Dorothea takes Edelgard’s hand clasped around her own and brings it to her own mouth, kissing it in a stereotypical gesture of chivalry and making Edelgard blush for the umpteenth time in the past 24 hours. “It’s my pleasure, Edie. I only ask one thing in return.”

“Of course, Dorothea, if I can do it.”

“That we have a moment to talk in private, before the battle begins.” Dorothea glances at Byleth before retraining her gaze upon the emperor before her. “Sooner rather than later, if possible.”

“Edie, why aren’t you simply warping yourself out of Fhirdiad? I think I know the answer, but I’d rather hear it from your own mouth.”

Edelgard sighs. The two are speaking privately in the emperor’s own tent, with their professor guarding the entrance. “Out of earshot,” Edelgard had instructed him. He had expressed an iota of discomfort, which had made Edelgard feel insecure in her “relationship.” Acknowledging these insecurities, of course, had only made them fester.

Any other time, she would love to speak with Dorothea. But right now? Edelgard fears her focus is strained.

“The professor and I will ensure that the battlefield is cleared before we exit of the city. We don’t want to leave any of the Strike Force behind, lest the city is destroyed.” Edelgard’s voice shifts as the emperor seeks to channel some confidence. “We won’t leave anyone behind, living or dead.”

“That’s what I feared,” Dorothea acknowledges. The thin smile upon her lips cannot hide the sadness in her gaze. “Edie, I have a bad feeling about this next battle. That we will lose someone important.”

“Dorothea, I understand your misgivings,” Edelgard consoles her friend. “But this battle must happen no matter what. This is the apex, the end.”

“Yes, but something is very, very wrong. Both Ferdie and I have the same feeling. Something in this battle will go very, very wrong.”

Now Edelgard’s eyes begin to narrow. Dorothea is privy to fear, of course, as is the rest of the army, but distractions will only serve to harm their progress. And the fact that Ferdinand shares Dorothea’s concerns makes Edelgard trust these fears less, if anything.

“Dorothea, your irrational worries will only hold you back,” Edelgard says, getting up from the stool she had placed across from her visitor. “We cannot let –”

“No!” Dorothea leaps to her feet, taking Edelgard’s hands and looking at her imploringly. “I don’t believe in the goddess, you know that, but I have never felt like this in my life. I fear it is some sort of sign, and…” She sits back down again, but keeps Edelgard’s hands clutched in her own. “We can’t let these stupid worries hold us back. I know that. I just wanted to talk to you one last time, just in case. I know it’s defeatist, but I insist.”

Edelgard does not let her face betray her, but her heart is swimming with pain. Dorothea is afraid. She seeks finality. _These are not machines,_ she reminds herself, _but people_.

“Very well,” Edelgard acquiesces. “Is it my turn to guess what you wanted to address?”

Dorothea nods, a tear trickling down her left cheek. “Sure.”

“Us.”

And at this the songstress nods, giving a small, almost pitiable smile. “It feels strange. We both knew it would happen, one day. But it still feels so strange.”

Edelgard knows, even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Their relationship over those five years had been pleasant, if odd – incredibly physical, often emotional, but never would they possibly call it courting. Edelgard’s heart was empty and the missing piece was shaped like Byleth, and Dorothea knew.

Yet that had not stopped Dorothea from warming Edelgard’s bed, from worshipping her with kisses, from devoting herself completely. If it wasn’t courting, then what else could it have possibly been?

“We did. And I knew even as I kept you, your heart would someday belong to someone else – someone who deserves you.”

“Edie, why is it that you put yourself down so?” Dorothea had asked her that very question so many times. Edelgard’s response had always been simple – an act of answering a question with a question.

“Why is it that you always do the same?”

“I don’t.” Edelgard’s eyes widen in shock as another tear rolls down her former lover’s cheek. “I felt so worthless, with all the empty praise from the noble creeps I sought out. And then I realized I had found a man who had been honest with me the whole time, who couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. He saw the beauty in me that I could not. And now I think I can see it too.”

Edelgard huffs, even if it’s with a gentle, genuine smile. “If you had told me, five years ago, that the man to save you would be _Ferdinand von Aegir_ , dammit…” and then she broke into tears.

Since the day the man who called himself her uncle took the young princess away, Edelgard had not cried in front of her father. She had not cried in front of Hubert. She had not cried in front of Byleth. She had saved all her tears for Dorothea, and Dorothea would collect them, and kiss them away, and make her forget. But even though Dorothea maintains her grip on Edelgard’s pale hands now, she could not, would not kiss her tears away again, because that era is _over_ , and her erstwhile emotional companion belongs to another now.

“Edelgard,” Dorothea pleads. “Our time has passed because we are both better off. You don’t have to feel so terribly about yourself, when there is a man who will help you the way Ferdinand helped me.”

Byleth. Byleth, who cares. Byleth, who sees Edelgard not for her weaknesses, but for her strengths.

Byleth, who will never love her, for he does not know how.

Edelgard cries and cries.

Dorothea stays at her emperor’s side until the time has come for her to don her armor, and she bids a shaky goodbye.

And Edelgard knows Byleth can hear her sobs, no matter how much he sought to stay out of earshot. She knows that he may hear, but he may never understand.

Kneeling on the stone tiles of the same chapel which had hosted Sylvain and Ingrid’s wedding not even 24 hours prior, Edelgard prays for the last time.

She is dressed in the red armor she wore when she marched against the Church. Aymr sits on the floor, shuddering in reaction to its wielder’s Crest of Seiros. The so-called Relic’s reaction serves as a reminder that the Agarthan-made axe is an affront to the very ground Edelgard kneels upon.

And yet Edelgard prays, Aymr at her side. A wretched mockery of a weapon crafted by the enemies of the goddess, and her axe.

_Goddess, I know that we haven’t been on the best of terms since that day. But for once, I want to thank you._

_The professor – no, Byleth – lives because of your aid. You keep him alive. So why did you guide him to the path which will destroy you?_

_I acknowledge you exist, but I know you cannot hear me. I believe you are no “goddess.” But I know you are not without a soul. Why have you done this?_

_Whatever your reasons…_

_I am in your debt._

And with that, Edelgard rises, picking up Aymr with her. Her greaves clank together as she grunts softly, pushing against her armor’s joints to bring herself back up.

“Are we ready to leave, Edelgard?”

 _He dropped El._ He always does that right before battle. The emotions detach, and the Ashen Demon takes over.

She should be used to it, but it still stings.

“In just a moment,” she replies. “There’s something you need to know first.”

Byleth walks down the chapel aisle. He had been guarding the entrance, ready to notify his emperor when the army is prepared. His intrusion could only mean that their march was imminent.

“What should I know?” Simple. Blunt. Passionless. The qualities that made Byleth the single best mercenary in all Fódlan. The qualities that Edelgard looked past when she fell in love with him. The qualities that she feels guilty for failing to look past now.

“It’s about you.” Edelgard takes a deep breath and looks up at her professor. “Why you are the way you are. If I die tonight, you may never know.”

Byleth nods. “Then tell me.”

Simple.

Blunt.

Passionless.

“You are here because of Rhea,” Edelgard begins. It’s such an odd circumstance to explain that she hardly knows how to go about addressing it. “Rhea, a child of the so-called goddess, knew your mother. She instilled the goddess’ power within you. I cannot know why, but I can only assume it was to turn you into a tool.”

Byleth nods. “Then Rhea succeeded.”

“She did,” Edelgard agrees. “She made you…”

_simple._

_blunt._

_passionless._

“…into what you are. You cannot feel the way we can because of her. Your heart does not beat because of her. You were meant to join her. And yet… you joined me.

“I had been prepared to fight you, and you joined me. Every day I wondered whether you were meant to take a different path. I wondered if I had somehow led fate awry. I wondered if I had robbed you from your intended life. When you disappeared for those five years, I felt it was my fault that you were gone. And you’re back, but…”

Edelgard feels the tears coming back, and though she does her best to blink them away she knows its no use, her eyes are watering though she’s going to lead an army and she just can’t help it, she needs to keep talking, she needs to tell him, she has no choice. “Rhea stole so much from you. So when I fight with you tonight, I don’t just fight for the future. I fight for you.”

Byleth nods. Simple, blunt, passi – _he smiled._

“El,” he says, and the hope returns to Edelgard’s heart, a beautiful dawn over the murky depths of her doubts. “Just as you fight for me tonight, I fight for you. Now and always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, excuse me, did somebody lose their feels? Because I've got some right here.
> 
> Somebody has to let me know which author's style I'm ripping off. I read over my work and it feels weird as hell, and unique somehow, but I insist that it can't be original. I'm ripping off someone, I'm sure.
> 
> Anyways, Rhea was supposed to be dead by this chapter, but I can't resist inserting feels apparently. On a side note, I was playing FE Heroes and I pulled a Summer Byleth and she had an Atk IV but no Spd IV. She seemed really good if she just has a Spd IV So I kept on pulling and now I have a +10 Summer Byleth with an Atk IV. Didn't get a single Spd IV. Send help.
> 
> Please.


End file.
